


Out of sight

by linana (carpediorma)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Past Brad Colbert/Nate Fick - Freeform, Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23680066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpediorma/pseuds/linana
Summary: He discovers it's always been there, hidden, like an undercurrent he's never been able to see. Though perhaps he's just not that good at reading.
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Ray Person
Kudos: 57





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> Due to current events, I'm having online classes and not coping AT ALL with the responsability. Instead of doing the smart thing, which would be writing my on-going fanfiction, I'm posting a new one because I'm an idiot with no self restraint. So here I am, once again, to terrorize you all with my bad writing and even worse English.  
> I'm very enamoured with this idea, and I genuinely think it could work if someone with actual skills wrote it, but I'll try to do what I can.

Nate marries his girlfriend on a sunny Wednesday.   
  
After a ferocious winter, that felt endless due to its harshness, spring comes nice and calm.   
  
Nate’s girlfriend has long, soft hair, and the kind of smile you only see in TV commercials. A blessed one since birth, her parents say to everyone and no one in particular, which earned her the name of Angela.   
  
Her smart eyes wander around the room, examining every man her new husband met in Iraq with an almost clinical look.   
  
“I only know Mike,” she explains.  
  
There’s nothing threatening in the way her mouth stretches to show him a perfect row of teeth, white as her dress, but Brad hesitates. He wonders if she knows.   
  
“And you are…” She says, and he sighs, both relief and defeat intertwined in an unidentifiable way.   
  
Various answers come to his mind. _I was your husband’s best team leader_ , he could say. _We share a connection so deep that we can’t quite explain it_ ; and if he were more daring, he would add: _I know him better than you, and I understand him in ways you could never even imagine._  
  
Brad forces a smile and mutters his name instead, one more to enlarge the mental list Angela is likely to forget.   
  
There’s a dissonance between his mood, and everyone else’s. Brad has always been a little out of tone in a crowd, though, constantly playing at his own rhythm. Right now, he’s surrounded by joy while mourning all the what-ifs, the ideal scenarios, and the possibilities. He’s burying them deep inside where they can’t be an inconvenient for him anymore.   
  
Everyone dances and laughs and Brad finds himself, once again, observing from the margins. 

His sense of safety is contained within sharply delimited borders, he’s often stuck inside that small ratio of comfort. You need to be cautious; one foot out and you’re defenseless.  
  
Years ago, Nate had been the sole exception to this rule.  
  
Years ago, Brad kept quiet for him, swallowing fair complaints.  
  
Years ago, he trusted Nate, believed in him, but turns out Nate didn’t even believe in himself.   
  
You can’t learn everything about someone, not even with close inspection and excruciating attention. It took him a while to realize.   
  
Nate directs him a soft smile from the distance. He’s beside Angela, talking to some preppy people Brad doesn’t know; his hand delicately placed on the small of her back. Brad allows himself to inspect it.   
  
There was a time when Nate opened trails in Iraq’s hard soil with the tracing of his fingers on a map. Brad wonders if Angela knows what those hands are capable of.   
  
He approaches the couple to let them know he’s leaving. Nate looks at him, and Brad knows that look by heart, the one that says _we’ve ended something that didn’t even start._

And Brad must have misread Angela because he discovers she's fluent in talking without words too, and the look in her eyes lets him know she knows. _There’s nothing to worry about_ ; he tries to convey with his.   
  
Nothing shouldn’t weigh this much.   
  
He knows they won’t ever talk about it, whatever there was between them has been destabilized by Angela’s addition. She's the logical choice, she makes sense in Nate's life. Brad tries to convince himself that’s the only reason she’s in the equation at all, but she’s actually part of it while he isn't even a viable option.

He knows they won’t ever talk about it. Nate _won’t_. You would think they taught him that in that college of his, among epistemology and greek characters, _silence_. He, being the brilliant student he's always been, excels at it. Brad may not have a formal education in that particular area, but he can keep up.   
  
Near the exit, there’s a little table with a giant album where you can write your congratulations and good wishes to the newlyweds: a bunch of words to last forever, or at least until the ink fades.   
  
Brad doesn’t grab the pen.

* * *

"I’ve sustained some irreparable damage to my lungs calling out to you, man. What the fuck?" Ray complains, getting closer.   
  
Brad’s about to reach the spot where his bike is parked when he catches up to him. He will never escape his freaky superpower, which seems to allow him to anticipate his every move.  
  
He asked him about it once, and Ray told him it was because they spent so much time together back in Iraq, their neurons ‘or some shit like that’ became attached.   
  
Ray knows more about the human brain, and it’s labyrinthic ramifications than the average person because he’s a Nursing student. Brad knows he knows because he’s been calling him weeks before every midterm, desperate and in need of someone with whom revise his notes. 

He pretends to be a lot more of an idiot than he actually is, that's not news. It’s a tactic he employed back in Iraq as a means of other’s entertainment and his own avoidance of the shit surrounding him, and then stuck as a bad habit once he didn’t go back. Brad doesn’t understand why. He doesn’t have to put up an act in front of him, he sees right through Ray’s shit show. It's hard to buy into it when they've been memorizing medical terms together a few days before.

“Person, you have to keep your obsession in check. It's too evident at this point.”  
  
Ray says: “Homes, I already explained how it works. It's science, not me! Every time you jerk off to your bike; I can feel it all the way to Missouri. Beautiful, isn’t it?”  
  
“I’m not completely sure you’re not just obsessed with me, you know? And that it has less to do with the inside of your head, and more with the fact you spy on me like a fucking stalker. ”  
  
He rides his bike and rolls his eyes when he feels something shift behind him, Ray’s knees touching the sides of his hip lightly.   
  
“Okay, whatever. Take me away, cowboy, I’ve seen enough stuck upness to last me a lifetime.”  
  
The motor rumbling combined with Ray's incessant chatting helps calm the stupid ache inside his chest.


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brad likes the way he can put the cellphone at a distance and still hear Ray complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I wanted to clarify that this is written without following a temporal continuity between each chapter. They do kinda have the same structure, though.  
> This probably has a lot of spelling mistakes and weird phrasing because English isn't my first language, so sorry in advance! I can't find a good grammar corrector!  
> Thanks for your support, sorry for being so bad with multi-chaptered stories!

Walt still doesn’t talk a lot, that hasn’t changed. Their weekly calls last fifteen minutes, at most, but Brad does enjoy those tiny glances of Walt’s life shared with him. He has come to need them.

Not when he's in deployment, of course, where all he needs are a gun and ammunition. Walking through the dark with a night vision device in replacement of his eyes, feeling right at home inside the metal carcass of the Humvee, steeling his emotions in order to become a machine. That presents no difficulties to him. 

The problem arises whenever he's on break, alone in a house that doesn't feel like his own; where the monotony of it all becomes too much, and he's just a guy with nothing to do. Walt's calls are a little yet necessary change of pace.

Between Nate's silence and Ray's meltdowns over quizzes and midterms, it’s nice to hear his voice; the calm pacing of his words as he tells him about the orange tree he just planted or how much his cooking skills are improving.

One day, in between a lasagna recipe (‘I know you won’t make it, but it’s really good’) and Brad’s complaints about the weather, Walt mentions a name in passing. 

There’s a fake nonchalance in his voice when he says it, a notorious effort to pass it off as nothing, but Brad recognizes it. 

In the next calls, little details keep adding defining features to that lonely name. Brad keeps a mental list, but he won’t ask any questions. There’s time for Walt to tell him what he wants, whenever he wants to. 

He doesn’t need to harass him to know what’s up with him, Walt is transparent when it comes to his feelings. Back when they were in Iraq, pain ultimately overcame him and it set over his face like a veil, obscuring his features with a mixture of anger and hopelessness. 

Now, when he calls, joy tints every word that comes out of his mouth. It’s a somewhat rare thing to hear. Brad can almost make out the way his posture softens when he informs him that he asked Cynthia to the movies and she accepted.

His mother wouldn't hesitate to reprimand him and tell him to _stop living vicariously through others_ , but Brad doesn't, really, he's just glad one of his men is doing okay. _You could be, too_ , she would venture, then would veer into dangerous grounds, offering her matchmaking skills and facilitating enticing prospects. 

The scene has repeated enough for him to know it by memory. She’s currently going through the first stages of grief, judging by the way she keeps insisting and how her eyes harden when she doesn't get what she intends. Brad hopes she gets to the acceptance stage soon.

His mom doesn't get that Brad may be excellent at some things, but terrible at others; she doesn't comprehend how he can't manage most tasks she deems as easy and important. ‘Why are you so unavailable? Why can’t you at least try?’ she reprimands him from time to time.

He wishes he could be what his mother wants him to be, yet he has been anything but that since he told her he wanted to enlist.

The satisfaction he feels towards his performance in the field completely withers when he’s going about in his civilian life. How is it possible for the exceptional soldier he knows he is, to coexist with this person who's not very good at being one? When he won’t be able to serve anymore, what will remain of him? 

Sometimes, he looks at his reflection in the mirror and doesn’t recognize himself without his military gear. At the end of the day, back at home, he's just a guy with a bike and too much free time.

Walt and Cynthia come visiting him once they're officially a couple. At this point, Brad knows the whole story of their relationship; and has heard so much about the girl he could fill a small notebook with Walt's descriptions about how her hair frames her face and how clever her opinions are.

The two of them have the whole day planned in the city, and having dinner with Brad is the culmination of their routine. He wakes up early and opens all the windows, letting the breeze in. His place is usually dark and cold, the inside always a couple of degrees lower than outside, but he makes an effort into turning it in a homely environment.

In the afternoon, the sun prickles his neck as he attempts to make a recipe he knows Walt will like and warms all the surfaces its rays come in contact with. Three hours and a house full of smoke later, he resents himself for thinking he could pull it off.

If the happy couple feels the smell and sees the takeout bags on the kitchen counter, they say nothing.

Brad has never seen Walt smile so much, so big. The real star of the night is Cynthia, though. She’s extremely charming and eloquent, keeps filling their silences with insightful comments about everything, but somehow managing to keep the conversation coherent.

He knows it’s not a flattering comparison, but she’s exactly what Ray could be without all the clownery and self-ridiculing. Brad knows Walt would kill him if he told him about the connection he just established: the girl he’s in love with and the annoying guy who lives to aggravate him.

There’s no reason for him to be reminded of Ray in a moment like this.

There’s no reason to feel completely flooded with affection at the thought of him, either.

None whatsoever.

* * *

He doesn't get offended when Walt and his girl don’t accept his invitation to stay in his spare room and opt to go to a hotel instead. Brad doesn’t like being in his house more than strictly necessary, either.

He finds himself feeling _so_ extremely alone after such a nice dinner. Not even a few minutes have passed since they left, yet the dark engulfs his surroundings and the silence is deafening. The contrast _hurts_ him.

These feelings aren’t any different from those he’s been experiencing for a long time now, but the fresh memory of the good evening he just spent amplify them. He’s also kind of drunk, that surely helps too.

Ray picks up the phone after the second call.

“Oh my fucking God, Bradley. You better have a good reason for bothering me at this time,” His voice fills the line, thunderous. “It’s the first night I’ve been able to sleep this week, you fucker!”

Brad likes the way he can put the cellphone at a distance and still hear Ray complaining.

“Dude… Dude, are you fucking laughing?! I’m going to kill you,” He threatens. “Wait, are you drunk, Brad? Are you drunk dialing me? Is this the situation?”

“Easy there, Ray. That’s no way to talk to a superior.”

“Shut the fuck up! You’re not the boss of me,” Ray argues. “It’s my _right_ and my _obligation_ to call you an ass, especially because you’re being one right now. Could you _please_ tell me what’s the reason for your call?”

“I just…” Brad discovers there’s not a concrete reason behind his call. He felt like doing so was the right thing to do. “Tell me about your week, Ray. Talk to me about your stupid school and your idiot classmates.”

And Ray… does.

The last thing Brad hears before drifting off is him saying: “Okay, it’s time for you to confess you missed me! Aw, Sargent Colbert has gone soft on me!”

 _Shut up, Ray_ , he thinks, unable to suppress the smile forming in his face.


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don’t really talk, that’s the thing. Ray does, obviously, all the time and about almost everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your support, guys! I hope you enjoy this!

The Espera’s home has become some sort of haven for him. Despite being everything Brad usually despises, a great variety of noises and children everywhere and _so many_ people all the time; he enjoys spending time there. 

It couldn’t be more different, but it kind of reminds him of the library at the end of the street he lived when he was a child, where he used to waste endless hours. He didn't even know how to read when he started sneaking there, just liked to inhabit that place, _wait_ there. He didn't know what, though, at least not at the time; the explanation would come many years later, with his therapist aid. Childhood is an empty space you fill up when you're older.

Brad remembers he had a routine. He used to rearrange the books by color, knowing the librarian would put them in the same order they were before once he left. When he was done, he picked a book and tried to make out the words on the pages. The written lines were just as unreachable as the books that sat atop of the shelves, hovering over his head.

He used to hide there because he knew someone would come to look for him because he knew his wait wouldn't be in vain. Sooner or later, his mom or one of his sisters would walk through the door and take him home. 

He feels the same when he's at Tony's, a kind of ease and assuredness that’s becoming harder to experience as he ages. Not even his parents’ house brings him that kind of comfort anymore. 

When he learned to read, he spent even more time at the library. Then he would roll his eyes whenever his family came to retrieve him, marching behind them reluctantly. 'You know you can take those home, right?' his older sister told him every time, annoyed.

Reading at the library was like being stranded on a lonely island or being lost in the center of a busy city. 'Brad, that's _so_ weird', was her answer whenever he tried explaining.

He chose anything to read. Not only he was taller, but Ms. Martinez had also started letting him use the ladder, so his domain was infinite. 'Oh my, Bradley! Soon you'll start reading the broken scraps of paper in the streets!', she used to laugh and say.

He didn't understand the reference until much later. He didn’t like the book. Reading about a delusional idiot who claimed to possess a greatness he laked wasn’t something he was interested in.

He liked books about _true_ knights: strong men born to combat, warriors who had to prove themselves, who conquered every obstacle with intelligence and bravery. There’s still so much of these stories in him, in the reasoning behind his enlistment. Brad would never admit it out loud, but Ray was right when he said so to the reporter; not that it would be necessary for him to confess it. 

He still gets surprised by how well Ray knows him. Every look from him works like a scalpel that pierces through the surface to peek inside Brad, he observes carefully all the raw material Brad offers him without meaning to.

"You look like shit, homes." He diagnoses unceremoniously after his examination. 

"Thanks, Person. I appreciate your assessment."

It's spring, but it feels like winter. It's cold and the sky is grey. Zoe Espera explains it's because pollution, her teacher talked about it in her science class.

"No, really, man. Are you, like, okay?" He insists, uncomfortable.

"Never been better, Ray." He answers and walks outside because he doesn't want to talk about it. Coming here is a break from everything he feels, and he's determined to enjoy it.

Nate didn’t come and Brad doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. It would be nice to see him, of course, yet it would be for nothing. What could Brad get from it? An awkward grin? A loose handshake? One thing is clear, his absence doesn’t compare to the weight of his presence. 

It’s starting to rain when he hears some footsteps behind him.

“You look completely pathetic here all alone,” Poke says. “You’re ruining my party, man!”

Something in Brad’s face might alert him, or maybe Ray had told him something was wrong with him. Either way, Tony gets serious immediately.

“What’s wrong, Brad?” 

“It's just... Sometimes I wonder what else I could be if I weren’t in the Corps. I’m just a Marine, you know? I can’t compartmentalize like you.”

Besides his therapist, Tony Espera is the only person Brad can talk about how he feels. He doesn’t inspect him as if he was a bug under a microscope’s lens like Ray; just sits and listens to whatever Brad has to say. 

“During all these years, I’ve worked hard for it and I know that’s what I’m good at. Yet, sometimes...” 

“You realize the little assistance you provide in no way compares to the atrocities inflicted by this country to those people?” Tony tries when he can’t complete his sentence. 

_Yes_ , he wants to say. Before it was easy to become his uniform, to forget his name and be Sargent. Now, the story is different, he feels like nothing with or without his helmet. Where has the Iceman gone? 

“Listen, I won’t try to tell you it’s an easy decision because we both know it’s not, but the Espera family is going to be there for you no matter what choice you make,” Tony reassures him. “Your life has value to everyone inside that house, Brad. Especially to my cousin Mariana, she's been wanting to dance with you all night.”

* * *

“Hey, look who’s finally coming back to daddy!” Ray welcomes him, while he’s taking a break from dancing with Zoe. He’s massaging his own back, trying to ease the discomfort of bending to the little girl’s stature. 

“Did you ask Tony to talk to me?” 

He doesn’t answer, just makes that stupid face he always does when he’s been caught doing something thoughtful and doesn’t want to admit it. 

“Thanks, Ray,” Brad says, genuinely. 

“No problem, dude.” Ray dismisses him. “There’s place for just one miserable guy, and that’s me, for being good with kids and having to entertain them all night.” 

There’s so much more he wants to say, but out of nowhere, a bunch of little hands snatch Ray and take him to the kids' table; from their overlapping and screeching voices, Brad is able to make out something about ‘wanting to hear Ray’s adventures.’ 

Brad appreciates the children’s interruption. They don’t _really_ talk, that’s the thing. Ray does, obviously, all the time and about almost everything. Yet they both always shy away when it comes to important things and personal feelings. Stuff that _matters_. One of them always ends up retreating, escaping. 

He would prefer death before admitting it, but he longs for a real conversation. Ray keeps watching him closely and what, storing all the information he collects inside him? Why? With what purpose? 

_What do you see?_ Brad wants to ask. 

Well, better luck next time. He thinks parental supervision should be mandatory around Ray as he watches him gesturing crazily, while the kids laugh and laugh.


	4. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’ll choose his peace of mind over the uneasiness of pining for someone who might not want him back, thank you very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't part of what I had planned for the story, but after I uploaded the last one I realized I forgot to follow through with what I first intended.  
> This story was born because I saw an argentinian film that featured a BIG amount of straight sex scenes, in contrast to the gay couple that served as the core of the story, whose relationship relied on subtle looks and the tension of whether they felt the same or not.  
> At first I felt weirded out, but then I realized that by explicitly showing these, the director highlighted the way same sex relationships usually develop in a different way, nor as easily or whatever. Anyways, I felt very identified with that, and I wanted to explore a story that somehow showcased it (without the sex, obviously)  
> It's super late and I'm very tired, so probably 1) this makes no sense and 2) the chapter has a lot of mistakes. I'm sorry!!!

The end of the party finds him alone again, sitting in a corner, sheltered by the ruckus the other guys are making. Everyone in the Platoon gets louder, rowdier with alcohol in their systems. Not him, though, he's always been a sad drunk.

He feels extremely alone whenever he's inebriated. It isn't a sudden thing; loneliness doesn't hit him hard as a bullet. Instead, Brad feels like an empty vase that's filled up to the rim with emotions, awful all of them.

Usually, he's a professional at keeping his feelings in check, schooling his face and expressions to show nothing; however, this carefully constructed restraint gets loose when in contact with substances. That's why he tends to stay away from them, ever since he was younger and his mother laughed at him because he got melancholic after a few beers, attempting to have heart to heart conversations with whoever wanted to hear him.

Brad learned to control those flaws to some degree. Drinking less, aborting his embarrassing need for talking about the stuff he typically guards. Sometimes those measures are prone to failure, and he ends up like this.

"Are you okay, Brad?" Gina approaches him, with a curious look in her eyes. She looks both tired and content, the only person he knows that is able to not look completely miserable while being exhausted. Brad admires her a lot; she has a lot on her plate, yet she's always willing to care for others.

"Why do you ask?"

"It's just I'm used to you helping Tony and me tidying the house and sending the guys home safely," She answers. "Not you drinking by yourself and looking sad. In my experience, something's wrong when you reach this sorry state."

He shrugs and pours himself another cup.

"I told Mariana you weren't interested in _dancing_ ," She says carefully. "But maybe I could help you find another _dancer_ , you know? I mean, eventually, it doesn’t have to be right now."

Gina knows about Nate, what little there is to know about it at least, in all its unrequited glory. Her opinion differs from his, though, and she seems to believe there was something else than camaraderie coming from Nate.

'I think the way you felt is understandable', she said when he told her. He doesn't want any reassurance, though, it means nothing. Actually, the thought of Nate feeling something for him is perhaps worse than him feeling nothing at all. He prefers banishing that prospect in order to sleep better at night, to stop himself from hoping for something that will never happen.

Since he’s drunk, he allows himself to shoot her a look of disbelief. He’ll apologize tomorrow.

“I know it's not a solution, but maybe it could make you feel a little better!” She rolls her eyes. “You’re worthy of love, Brad, no matter how hard you try to deny it!”

“Well, I haven’t been very successful in that particular aspect, you know.” He reclaims. “What else I’m supposed to think? From the data I've gathered so far, it's pretty clear I'm not.”

That’s the thing with people who are in love; they think that just because they have found someone, everyone shares the same ability. Some people weren’t made for that, and life makes sure to let them know, again and again.

Gina and Tony are out here looking like the embodiment of that stupid myth about the origin of love, two parts of a whole that works perfectly in sync; but it’s not the same for Brad. And he’s mostly okay with it, whatever.

He’ll choose his peace of mind over the uneasiness of pining for someone who might not want him back, thank you very much.

“Maybe you could start searching closer to you, considering options within your reach.” She ventures, looking at the glass to avoid looking at him.

“Are you suggesting I stole your husband? Do I look like a homewrecker to you, Gina?”

“You get dumber when you drink, Bradley!” She laughs. “And you’re completely blind when you’re sober! What are we going to do with you?!”

“Your words are completely baseless because my job depends solely on my sight, my eyes are sharp as a knife. Gina, you should know that.”

She seems to be waiting for him to let her know he's joking, but he's very serious. Brad is the best at what he does, and he might have a lot of faults but his eyes aren't one of them.

“Okay, it’s clear I can’t let you leave when you're like this. How about you spend the night here? You could share the spare room with Ray.”

“Where’s Ray?” He hadn't noticed before, but it's weird not seeing him in the mess of drunk guys that is taking place in the living room.

“He’s already asleep. He’s taking a bus early tomorrow, said something about classes and exams.”

“Yeah, it’s all he talks about lately.”

Gina puts her index finger on her lips and repeats as she guides him to the room: “Be quiet, don’t wake him up.”

* * *

What Gina doesn't know is that Ray is a light sleeper. The lightest sleeper Brad has ever known. The reflexes he developed while in the Marine Corps only intensified as a student who pulled all-nighters in the regular.

As a result, Ray is alert and tense all the time. She should know Brad isn't the only one who needs help, where is his intervention? Brad suspects something else than a romantic partner would be necessary.

Ray sticks out his head from under the covers and rolls his eyes at him, face scrunched with contempt.

"Oh my fucking God, stop making noise!"

Once he's laying in the bed, Brad turns to the direction he _thinks_ Ray's bed is located and asks: "Do you ever feel like everything you've fought for is just made-up words, and you've dedicated your life to a vacuous image that doesn't match reality? Like you're fighting against windmills and all your enemies are imaginary?"

"Fuck me! Look, I really can't deal with your life crisis right now, Brad. I swear we'll talk about it later, even though you'll regret telling me this."


	5. v

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘I’m sure the church will fall apart as soon as you set a foot inside,’ He said, thinking about how good Ray was with kids. ‘Or you’ll automatically burst into flames.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed it before, but in this chapter the extent in which I know nothing about anything is clearly stated. Sorry I can't provide you accuracity, I'm just vibing  
> Also, you construct intricate rituals which allow you to touch the skin of other men or what  
> Thanks for your support!!!

Brad knows most of his opinions are quite unpopular. Ray keeps giving him song recommendations because he's convinced is musical taste is terrible and Walt laughs at his culinary preferences, that according to him are rather basic. Back in Iraq, even when he tried to comply, Nate thought some of Brad's suggestions could be counterproductive to their missions, to the Military's functioning in enemy territory.

The more controversial ones, those that make his mother sigh with defeat, are the ones related to romantic relationships. 'Love is always the answer,' she says all the time, corny and delusional considering his past circumstances and his sister's divorce.

Brad doesn't hold marriage or having kids in high regard as others seem to do. He doesn't consider them to be obvious stages in life and doesn't really wish to experience them. 'You can't be alone forever,' his newly remarried sister pokes fun at him.

Garza is his total opposite in that aspect. A year after his wedding, the Troop has reunited again for his baby’s baptism.

A few weeks before, just as Brad arrived from a ride in an attempt to ease the tediousness of being home, he received a call from Ray. 'You still think religion is gay, Colbert?' he asked, amusement noticeable in his voice.

‘I’m sure the church will fall apart as soon as you set a foot inside,’ He said, thinking about how good Ray was with kids. ‘Or you’ll automatically burst into flames.’

Just because Brad didn't think it was that much of a big deal, didn't mean the Christian institution shared his opinion. A baptism was considered a serious procedure. So Ray drove to church every Saturday, where he partook in the preparation process to fulfill his role as a future godfather.

He also called Brad and complained about what a downer all of it was every single time.

The day the ceremony comes, Ray looks like he’s close to having a panic attack. Brad is by his side, watching him carefully. When the altar boys pass them by, walking together at the same pace and looking like different parts of a single organism, Ray’s breath catches. By the time the lady on the piano starts her piece, he starts sweating. _Profusely_.

The photographer keeps following them around, pestering like a fly, trying to get everyone to smile.

"It would be nice if you did, too." The guy says, probably wondering what's wrong with Ray.

“Hey! Fuck off. Let the guy breathe a little.” Brad fends him off. The guy does a show of rolling his eyes, before setting to attack another group of unsuspecting guests.

“I’m fucking scared! What if I drop him?” Ray gets near as he lowers his voice. “What if I drop him _in_ the water?!”

“Ray, calm down! You have practiced before,” He assures him. “You got this. And remember this isn’t about you. No one gives a shit about you.”

“Well, I mean, they clearly do! They chose me! To be a permanent part of their kid’s life! I don’t want to ruin it!”

“And you won’t,” Brad insists. “Unless you don’t fix that damn tie. In that case, you’ll look fucking ridiculous, and the kid will hate you.”

“I tried so many times...” Ray says while Brad starts unknotting the tie, tying it again. It’s not the same as knotting his own, so his hands fumble a little; his fingers linger in the striped fabric of the tie a bit more than necessary. Ray doesn’t seem to notice.

“Ugh! You’re so good to me, Bradley!” He smiles mockingly and pats him in the back, before walking towards Garza and his family.

He seems more at ease as he picks the baby in his arms, who in turn takes the tie between his little hands and promptly messes it up again. Ray looks back at Brad, laughing his ass off, and Brad doesn’t find the scene completely endearing. Not at all. Really.

The ceremony starts and ends with no inconveniences. With a few words and a little bit of water, Gabriel Jr. becomes a member of the Christian Church. There are tears and proud exclamations, there are old ladies praying and kids everywhere.

There is Ray, his sincere smile.

For a moment, Brad wonders what would be like to be part of something bigger than him. For his desires to be recognized and not judged, for his feelings to not being frowned upon.

He wonders briefly what would it be if he could have what he want, whether he would _let_ himself want it or not. He stops himself. He needs to be cautious. That’s dangerous territory to step into and all his life he’s specialized in avoiding risks, not a good time to throw all his efforts away.

* * *

Garza’s gigantic family was staying at his home, so Brad and Ray went to a shitty hotel for the night.

“Brad, you need to do me a favor.”

“Depends.” He says, laying in his bed while watching one of those bizarre True Crime shows, feeling too tired to take off his suit.

"Take off your shirt and lay on your stomach." At Brad's perplexed look, he insists. "C'mon! Do it, man!"

Brad does as he's told, still following Ray's movements across the room. His fingers hesitate on the buttons, trembling a little.

There's the sound of a zipper being opened, and a rumble of papers.

“You know how with this whole thing I’ve been kinda distracted, right?” Ray says, approaching him with a stack of books in his hands. “Well, this killer test is coming up, and I’m desperate!”

“And what the fuck I’m supposed to do?”

“I figured having the full-size model would be much better than some 2D picture in a textbook,” Ray reasons, almost as if he had rehearsed it before. “Homes, your back muscles are toned and defined and _exactly_ what I need.”

Brad can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “You fucking planned this? This is weird and disturbing, _even_ for you.”

“Shut up, Bradley! Don’t get yourself hot! This is strictly for educational purposes.”

Ray's hands glide along his back as he recites bones’ names and other words Brad doesn’t understand. His skin is kind of rough like he's used too much hand sanitizer, yet he finds the contact with it strangely comforting. He isn't used to be touched, but the way Ray traces his muscles with no hesitation and then adds pressure to the places where his bones are supposed to be hidden makes him feel...

No, Brad doesn’t feel anything. Not at all. _Really_.


	6. vi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a moment, he wonders who would be the Stafford to his Christeson. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uni chewed me up and just recently spitted me out, and I'm feeling worse than ever lmao  
> I've been trying to write this for so long and attempting to make it better, but it's impossible and it's SO BAD.  
> There's probably a lot of mistakes in this and I still don't know when to use 'on' or 'in', so sorry in advance!!!  
> Thanks for reading!!!

Brad likes Stafford and Christeson. He isn’t as close with them as he is with Tony, doesn’t keep up with them as Walt does. They’re younger; and sometimes it feels like they speak in a different language, see things in a way he doesn’t quite understand. 

The missions spent together did their part in joining them for the rest of his life, though, so he goes to see them when he receives an invitation. Q-tip is the one who calls him, he’s always being the more talkative of the two, but in his words, it’s clear he’s not alone. ‘We got this new flat and wanted to get the whole gang back together’ he said. 

Brad doesn’t really know at what moment Evan and John became this buy-one-get-two situation, but whenever he looks back he remembers them together, always close, each an extension of the other. 

For a moment, he wonders who would be the Stafford to his Christeson. 

A while ago, he would have said Nate. A while ago, it genuinely felt like that; with that strong connection they had, their whole communication system made up of looks. 

It’s been such a long time, he’s not sure if something of that still remains. And for the first time in years, he’s able to say he doesn’t really care. 

When he arrives and sees Nate, he feels nothing. It’s not the same as restraining his emotions, trying to hide them under a guise of protecting himself. There’s really nothing. 

While they catch up briefly and Nate tells him he’s about to become a father, that he’s bought a bigger house for his new family, Brad realizes he doesn’t have much to say. 

He goes through the previous few years, thinks about the past events in his life as if they were neatly listed. It’s not a long list, and it isn’t particularly interesting either.

His missions, his house, his family, some guys in the Platoon, Ray. Few constants in the shitty inventory that his life has become. 

“Is Ray coming?” Nate asks him, and something in his voice tells Brad he might have gotten his answer. He doesn’t want to think about the implications of Ray being the John to his Evan, so he shrugs, even though Ray called to tell him he would.

Brad congratulates Nate and goes to help the hosts with the food. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t need to. Time _does_ work wonders.

It takes him a few minutes in John and Evan’s company to realize there’s something between them. He can’t exactly point out what gives it away, he thinks it could be the domesticity of it all.

Maybe it’s because Christeson calls Q-Tip by his name while no one else does, maybe it’s how he says it. Perhaps it’s the way Evan rushes to help John, attentive and caring, nagging him about being more careful. 

Brad doesn’t mention it. He couldn’t dare to bring it up. He wonders if this reunion ‘for old times sake’ was just an excuse to let the bunch of them know; he wonders if it’s necessary or if he’s the only one who didn’t know until now. 

Is he as noticeable? Is there something in the way he looks at men, in the way his hands linger a little while fixing his partners’ gear?

He refuses to acknowledge it, to put a name on it, but he’s been coming to terms with it for a long time now. It’s there, looming over him. Sometimes it’s easy to forget it, especially when he’s not home, away on a mission, and too busy to let that kind of stuff cloud his mind. 

When he’s home, though, whenever he wanders as a civilian and realizes how lost he feels, how unsteady his grasp on life is, that’s when it gets harder. Brad functions best under pressure and with a definite plan ahead of him. 

It’s ridiculous that, sometimes, he feels safer in enemy soil than being surrounded by the people he’s known for the last years of his life. The whole concept of normalcy unsettles him more than missiles and ammunition; while that one he gets with expertise, the other makes him lose his footing. 

He’s tried to picture his future; most of the time, he sees nothing. In the few times he’s feeling charitable, he allows himself to imagine what he really wants. Some nights, engulfed in a darkness so deep that his eyes can’t see even though they’re open, he lets down the barriers so firmly built. 

He wants, and he knows what he wants, but he won't say it. There’s a latent danger in even thinking about it, the risk of making it a real, tangible thing that ultimately becomes too hard to hide. 

He wonders if Ray can see it, if something in Brad's eyes softens at the sight of him. He knows he doesn’t; Brad is good like that.

* * *

“They’re totally fucking,” Ray says with a hushed voice, as he sits next to Brad on the couch. He’s usually so loud that these rare moments always take him aback. Brad can’t help but laugh at himself for feeling there’s something intimate about Ray leaning into him, talking softly so only Brad can hear. “It’s true! Don’t laugh!”

“It isn’t too early to be this drunk, Person?” 

“I’m just getting started, baby. Also, I'm just stating facts here, supported by data such as they moving together and the way they look— Wait, you didn’t say no. You didn’t deny it! You see it too!” It’s never a question with Ray, he always makes judgments as if he knew exactly what's going on in Brad’s head. 

“Congrats on retaining your Recon abilities, marine. Good to see all the school work hasn’t mashed your brain yet,” Brad shrugs when Ray frowns at him. “What do you want me to say, Ray?”

“Don’t you think it’s, like, weird?” Ray keeps looking over to where Evan and John are talking with Mike and his wife.

“It’s their life. What’s your problem? Can’t hold back the need to shout some slurs at them?” Brad shrugs again, defiantly. He doesn’t mean it, but there’s harshness in his voice. 

“Shut the fuck up, Brad. I’m not an asshole,” There’s an edge to his too. “Besides, it isn’t funny when it’s true.” 

He refuses to look at him. Brad can’t take his eyes off Ray while he says, slowly: “I don’t think it’s that weird. It’s— a thing, nowadays.” 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Ray groans. “My cousin Shannon has a girlfriend, Brad. It’s just— it’s weird. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Weird because we were marines? Weird because they’re being as open as they possibly can?” Brad tries. 

“I guess I didn’t think it was possible. For people like us, I mean. It didn’t feel like a possibility, you know?” Ray is finally looking at him, presumably making sure Brad understands what he’s trying to say. 

Brad tries to take the reasonable route. They’ve always been better telling things without actually saying them, words becoming obstacles when they matter the most; so he simply nods and puts his hand on Ray’s back, attempting to ignore how fast his heart is beating. 

He understands. Seeing John and Evan together makes it real, shows him having something like that isn’t as impossible as he has convinced himself it is. 

Ray runs off and spends the rest of the night in that state of mutism he adopts every time something’s wrong. 

They just don’t talk about it.

Brad hopes time makes its work eventually.


	7. vii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the last one! I can't believe I'm not only managing to finish something but also feeling kind of satisfied with the result.  
> I started using a better grammar program so I checked the previous chapters and they were full of mistakes!!! I can't believe so many of you read and supported the story despite that. I'm extremely grateful!  
> Thanks for reading!

Brad isn't particularly fond of Trombley. He would be lying if he said he hadn't grown since their days in Iraq, when he used to make Brad's skin crawl sometimes, but the memories are still there and so are his reserves around Trombley. They're not totally unfounded. 

He knows not everyone lived the war in the same way he did and he's beginning to accept there's no rules or a guideline for that. It was a way of getting out of his town for Ray, there were idealistic and — realistically — idiotic motives for him. Trombley's were far more frightening.

Perhaps the reason it's that they were far more faithful to the cause they — thought, wanted to think — were defending back there. More transparent. Not really a fight for freedom or a way to defend their homeland, but to destroy and seize power. 

It's embarrassing it took him so long to notice, and it's even more embarrassing that he took longer to act on it, the terrible realization. 

Sometimes he wonders if it's enough. If getting out and working a job he doesn't really like is enough, because truthfully speaking, the damage has been done and he has devoted his life to become a killing machine.

Once he realized it, and more than that, once he was willing to take responsibility for it, it became unbearable. He couldn't keep going with that life. 

It's still unbearable some days. The past won't magically erase, correct itself just because he learned he made the worst choice while he was convinced it was the only choice. The regret won't ease just because he can no longer pretend he's okay with what happened while he was deployed.

So, yeah. Brad doesn't like Trombley very much and would love for him to be miles away from his vicinity, but the moment there's a knock in his door and he opens it to find him, teary-eyed with a bag in his hand, he lets him in. 

Serving is serving, and team is team. Even though his presence brings memories he would give everything in the world to forget. 

Brad pretends he didn’t realize Ray hadn’t sounded surprised when he called him to tell him he was leaving the corps. He was the first person he ever told, the only person he could bear to confess what was going on inside him. 

His father hates the fact he's chosen to ditch a career of considerable success, that he simply woke up one day and decided to not go back. That's not how it happened, but he wouldn't understand even if Brad told him about how long he spent considering it, agonizing over it. He also hates that he went to work in what he considers a dead-end job. He doesn't say anything but the silence Brad is met whenever he mentions it, whenever he says he's sorry he didn't call because he was busy at work says enough. 

His mother is happy to have him around, that's all she's ever wanted. To wake up in the morning and know, with certainty, that Brad is putting in hours in a boring, yet safe job.

Brad doesn't really know how to feel. Between the weight of his past and the unfulfillment of the present, he often finds himself in a lump. He didn’t expect to miss it so much. He misses the exertion, the way his whole body used to ache with exhaustion, so he runs every day after work until he can't feel his legs and his lungs are fighting to keep functioning. Just then he's able to sleep at night. 

Nothing changes with Trombley in his house. He spends most of his time holed up on the couch, watching television. It might sound selfish, but it feels nice to have someone more pathetic than Brad around.

* * *

"Brad, you can't just kick him out, he's going to kill you! You can't also let him stay because he'll kill you as well," Ray says, over the phone. "There's no way out in this situation. You fucked up." 

"Ray." Brad sighs. The only person he feels like calling at all times is also the most unhelpful motherfucker he's ever known.

"I know his wife left him and all that shit, but still," Ray brushes off as if it's no big deal and adds, "You've really gotten soft. What happened to the old Bradley who said he would kick my ass if I ever dared to touch down on his porch?"

"You know I don't mean it," Brad says, and because he's really gotten soft, "You've never been to my house. You should come."

"What's next? An orgy? An orgy at your place is what you want?" Ray mocks him. "I'm busy, homes! Finishing school is harder than you imagine, it's like they're making sure I don't accidentally kill a patient or something."

"You should come." Brad insists, hoping his voice can convey everything he's not saying, all the things they choose to keep. He's sure Ray will be able to catch them. Words aren't necessary between them and Brad is starting to realize that might be a good thing. 

He isn't surprised when he gets back from his work on a Friday and sees Ray waiting for him in front of his house. He's just standing there, attempting to unsuccessfully hide that he doesn't know what to do with his hands.

"Trombley refused to open the door," He says, too affectionate to sound mad about it. "I was in too much of a good mood to try to break in."

Brad doesn't say anything. He can't stop smiling.

Later, as they’re eating some terrible pizza Trombley bought from a sketchy place, Brad feels at home. It’s a sudden thing, it hits him by surprise. There, in the usually silent kitchen, he feels more alive than he’s felt in a long time. 

It feels like Ray fills every space inside the house with his stupid laugh and his dumb jokes. Brad can’t help but think about how right it feels, how much sense it makes to have him there with him. His smile and the way his eyes tell a million stories his mouth won’t even begin to articulate, the way Brad is able to decipher them all. 

And it’s then, while they share incredulous looks over the nonsense Trombley spouts, that he feels like they’re back as if time hasn’t passed at all.

Brad doesn’t want to associate this moment with their past, their mistakes. As with most things in his life, after a long time of deliberation, he finally accepts he's ready to create some memories of his own, without the weight of his regrets.

"Whatever, Trombley. I'm still kicking you out next week." He says, hoping Ray can understand his new resolution. If not, they'll have time to talk.


	8. viii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normalize not going to your friend’s house lmao  
> This is it, you guys, here ends the most self-indulgent, inconsistent and OOC fanfic in this fandom!   
> Once I stop feeling pure recoil at reading my own writing, I’ll try to edit this work. Until then, you’ll have to deal with this mess. This ending must feel super underwhelming, but it's just right to me idk (*Reynolds Woodcock's voice* "maybe you have no taste")   
> I'm considering adding an epilogue or something like that since this one doesn't give much closure AT ALL, but I don't know for sure.  
> Anyways, it’s absolutely unbelievable how nice you’ve been! Thanks for everything!

As with most things in his life, it’s easier said than done. And that’s exactly his problem, saying things. Ray and he had been perfectly working on this understanding made of looks and jokes, half-truths and omissions for so long that it’s not clear where to start and terrifies him where it could end. 

It has been a comfortable place, this unspoken compromise on both parts of veiling what was really going on between them, so he doesn’t know how to get out of it.

He knows there’s something, it must be. And there must also be a reason that Ray hasn’t said anything yet. He’s brave, in some ways, he’s braver than Brad will ever be. He decided to leave everything he knew and start completely new when Brad hadn’t even started to recognize the dissatisfaction he felt about his life as such. 

Ray woke up one day and called him, announcing he wasn’t re-upping while knowing Brad would feel betrayed, abandoned. Ray knew it would change things and braced himself anyways, doing with little effort what took years for Brad to even consider without censoring himself. 

Ray is a brave guy and that’s why Brad doesn’t know the reason behind his silence about this thing they’re not dealing with. Ray who talks about anything and everything, who spouts whatever comes to mind without thinking who he could offend, refusing to talk about what they share it's not a good sign.

He can’t stop wondering. Out of all the things he’s been through, this is the thing that scares him the most. Thinking about how things could be ruined if he talked to Ray, but also what would happen if he didn’t. And he would wait for a sign, for something to show him if it’s clear to proceed or if he should keep undercover, but the thing is he’s been waiting for too long and he’s afraid that’s going to become custom. 

He’s tired of waiting for things to happen. Lately, he’s been realizing that all his life, every little thing he didn’t do, but also the ones he did, were a way to wait, to buy time so someone or something would come along and show him the way, the right way, the way to feel normal and no longer alone. 

In some ways, he’s still that kid waiting for his family to come to pick him up at the library. He’s still that child wanting for someone to choose him. Everything he’s done to distance himself from that stage of his life, how he felt when he was going through that, is fruitless because he’s old and defeated and unhappy and still doesn’t know what step to take next, where to go.

And while his life feels stuck, scarily still, Ray's doesn't stop going forward. Perhaps, the reason Ray refuses to acknowledge his feelings is that he isn't interested in dealing with a guy who's trapped in his past, unable to move on.

* * *

Brad arrives at Ray's apartment a day before his graduation. 

He's welcomed by complete chaos. The table-turned-desk contains more stuff than should be possible, there are five unwashed mugs, a couple of books, and notes scattered all over the surface. Ray is wearing some ridiculous glasses and there are ink splashes all over his face, as if he fought with his pen instead of using it for its purpose. 

Brad finds it dangerously endearing. Ray is a fucking mess, always has been, and even though he's tried to deny it, Brad is disgustingly fond of him. He doesn't think he'll be able to hide it anymore, but maybe it isn't even that much of a secret. Brad is completely at a loss when it comes to his feelings towards Ray, can't pinpoint where it started, how they managed to bloom under all the weight of his self-denial.

He refuses to talk about it, knowing it isn't the right moment. Ray is a ball of energy and nerves, unable to settle for a little before starting to fiddle again, and he doesn't want to put something else on his plate that could potentially fuck him up even further. It would be unfair.

They spend the night awake, Ray nearing a panic attack almost every fifteen minutes, and Brad attempting to calm him, threatening him to cool it with the coffee intake. There's not a single bottle of Ripped Fuel in sight. He supposes he should feel proud.   


The next day, at the time of the ceremony, everyone arrives and no one seems particularly surprised by Brad's presence, as if his early arrival was to be expected. To the others, he's totally the Stafford to his Christeson, isn't he?

Now, looking at Ray's ridiculous face, he's met with what feels like the truth. After so many years, he discovers it's always been there, hidden, like an undercurrent he's never been able to see. Though perhaps he's just not that good at reading.

“Remember that night at Poke's? How you wanted to talk?” Ray asks earnestly. “You left the Corps and we didn’t talk about it.” 

His graduation cap keeps falling off and he’s nervously clutching the diploma in his hands and Brad takes it from him without a word, trying to smooth it neatly.

Brad isn’t surprised that it’s Ray who finally decides to take the lead, he’s always been a step ahead when it comes to this. 

“We could talk about  _ it _ . We should, Brad.” Ray says and there’s no mistaking in what he’s referring to. 

This time, he won’t let himself ruin it. 


End file.
